


dancing with your ghost

by Val_Creative



Series: IT Movies Fic-Palooza 2019 [7]
Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti)
Genre: During Canon, Friendship/Love, Grief/Mourning, IT 2019, Mild Blood, Reminiscing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-12
Updated: 2019-09-12
Packaged: 2020-10-17 08:34:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20618087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Val_Creative/pseuds/Val_Creative
Summary: “I could never forget you, Stanny…”





	dancing with your ghost

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sweetheartbitterheart](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweetheartbitterheart/gifts).

> Requested by sweetheartbitterheart (AO3): "SFW. Stanley is the one from the novel who said they should clean Beverly's bathroom and offered to pay for the laundromat. He called it a date and Beverly grinned. This but in IT Movies and Beverly remembers." I JUST WANT EVERYONE TO KNOW,,, I burst into tears while writing this. I think I've finally accepted Stanley's death. JUST NOT FOR FANFIC. Hope this breaks and mends some hearts! Thanks for reading!
> 
> ((Want a request for IT? I'm doing 100-1000 word fics of any friendship or romantic ship + any prompt until I feel like quitting. Rules: you need to comment here and provide a friendship or romantic ship + prompt. You need to specify if you want SFW or NSFW (for 18+ readers only). Please check [Full Rules](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1478582). The only requests I'll be looking at is if you ALSO commented about the fic you read as well. It's only fair. You came to this fic to read it and me doing something for you later on is a sweet bonus!))

*

Beverly notices the trickle of warm, red blood first.

She elbows Richie and Mike as they're strolling down Brewster Street, revealing out her palm-wound. Pale, scarred flesh slit apart. "Oh hell," Richie mumbles, cringing, staring down in disbelief at his own bleeding palm. All of them. All of their scars open.

Eddie and Bill vanish into King's Diner, right across the way, smuggling out napkin dispensers. They rush to the alleyway, grabbing fistfuls, sitting down and leaning against the rotted bricks. Beverly listens offhandedly to the conversation around her, blotting her hand quivering from the pain. It's like someone took a hot knife and dragged it furiously across Beverly's palm.

All of her napkins crumple up in a growing pile next to her. Bright red stains.

_"We need to clean this up," Stanley declares, examining Beverly's ceiling. Glaring at the layers of blood congealing. _

_"Right now."_

Beverly smiles absentminded at the sudden, cascading memory, prodding her thumb over her palm-scar's edge.

_They never took a break. Bill scrubs out and empties Beverly's tub, patting her arm reassuringly. Eddie wheezes into his inhaler clamped between his lips, hauling colossal garbage bags out with Ben. Mike follows them, dutifully leaving the supplies behind._

_"I know my dad can't see it… but I can." Beverly crosses her arms, frowning at the dark, bloody towels. "And… I don't wanna see it…"_

_Stanley peers to her, and then the rags, contemplating this. He then offers a boyishly-wide smile._

_"How about the laundromat?"_

A tiny, gasping sob escapes Beverly's lips.

His golden-brown curls darkened over time. He wore blue eye-contacts for his failing vision, just because they messed up his prescription that month. Stanley agreed to use them while ordering brand new ones at the doctor's office, but sometimes found himself with reading glasses.

He spent his free time with puzzles and newspaper crosswords, researching bird species and their locations so he can see them on vacation days. His sketch-pads full of beautifully precise charcoal lines. Stanley kissed his wife that morning. He worshiped every bare, soft inch of her when they were alone together, promising her their own child as soon as she was ready, making her feel loved and gorgeous and more alive than possible…

Stanny… …

_"Stanny, you don't have to," Beverly insists, glancing nervously between him and the older, bearded man in a construction hat, dumping his laundry into one of the mega-huge washers. Richie called them mega-huge once. It's not a word, she supposes._

_"It's fine," Stanley replies, drumming his fingers atop the counter. He waits patiently. "Only costs thirty bucks or something."_

_"That's a lot…"_

_"If anyone notices the blood, we'll just say we spilled paint everywhere. On a date."_

_Beverly blinks, hesitating from digging around in her jean-pockets. There's only two dollars and thirty seven in change. _

_"Date?" she repeats, amused._

_Stanley's cheeks pinken._

_"Forget it," he says, grinning along with her. His head ducks down bashfully. They're still covered in patches of blood, on their necks and faces, on Stanley's neutral-colored polo and her blouse. Beverly grins harder, silent, rubbing a finger over Stanley's jaw, smearing the dark red off. Stanley retaliates by smearing the red on the tip of Beverly's nose, giggling and kicking her._

Beverly grins harder, too. Outside the memory. She sobs soundlessly, feeling his gentle, pulsing light fading from her.

_"I could never forget you, Stanny.…"_

A napkin bunches into Beverly's scarred hand. Her head ducking down. She clutches on, onto him, onto them, arm raised up like a defeat.

*


End file.
